Waiting for tears or fears
by loudthoughts
Summary: I altered this fanfic slightly and decided to repost. The man on the rooftop watches her apartment, waiting for her to need his help. He's no savior, but, then again, she's no damsel.


Disclaimer: I don't own these characters nor any part of the Law and Order franchise. I can, however, hope and pray. Meanwhile, I'll just write this stories and hope that someone reads them.

please, please, please review. I would really appreciate it.

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The wind flows through the streets as busy people walk quickly to get back indoors; out of the hustle and bustle that comes with a big city life. Up atop the buildings however, the wind is less constricted, and it's a little colder because of the lack of car exhaust and body heat that's present down below. He stands nearly on the edge of the roof, holding onto the railing with one gloved hand, as the other adjusts his overcoat, pulling it tighter around him. He is too old to be doing this, he thinks, but not old enough to not do it, so he keeps his eyes trained on the apartment building right across from this rooftop. He glances up at the sky as it darkens, noticing the sun has almost dipped down behind the horizon and laughs at the absurdity of all of this.

He's evading someone unavoidable, and he's studying her, both from near and afar. If he wasn't who he was, people might notice his strange behavior, and accuse him of stalking. This thought interrupts his careful watching. He takes one step back from the railing and takes a moment to think about his actions. He is chasing someone that isn't running away, and he thinks he needs to help her, even though she tells him not to worry. Last week he was sure that he needed to do this, and as he was on his way here for the sixth day, thirty minutes ago, he didn't double think his plan. Now, he wonders if he read her wrong. Maybe, she really had overslept this past week, and she really was fine. Maybe she really wasn't having nightmares about the undercover sting, and he was imagining her slight discomfort with the confined interrogation rooms.

Maybe.

He looked to the horizon again, and after a split second, walked back to the railing. She should have showed up twenty minutes ago. He knows her schedule fairly well, and he takes a shortcut so he could get here just before she did. For the past five days, he had wandered up this building and stood on this rooftop and watched her enter her apartment.

He could watch her sit on her sofa for about half an hour before she closed the blinds and went to cook something. Whenever she started cooking, he would take on last look at her through her kitchen window and walk down to his car and go back home. He knew he was imposing on her privacy, but he'd be damned if he'd let her spiral into some sort of depression or sheltered habit. She was too stubborn to reach out to him or anyone else for that matter. That's why he had started doing this.

If he could watch her while her guard was down in her own home, even just for those brief thirty minutes, he could tell if there was something bothering her. He could run down this building and up her apartment building in a moment and knock on her door if he saw her shed a tear, or start to panic. He would be there for her, even if she didn't want him to be; even if she didn't want to let him see her vulnerable. She was too proud for that, but he was too stubborn and too determined to let her keep hurting.

The sight of her turning the corner interrupted his thoughts, and he was careful to take a step back when she scanned the area. He smiled, she was ever the cop. He went back to his spot as she fumbled for her keys for a minute, and watched as she finally went inside. Now that she was gone from his sight, his eyes traveled to the fourth floor, two windows from the end of the building, which belonged to her kitchen and living room. He patiently waited, until he saw her lights finally turn on, and he watched as she threw her jacket on the floor and put down her façade of normalcy. She let herself fall onto her sofa, and unlike these previous afternoons, she didn't just sit in comfortable silence. He could clearly see as she lay there, wallowing in her own fear and pain, and she didn't try to move. And so he hurriedly left his place on the roof and down the building.

This was the day he had waited for. He was no crazy stalker; not a sick old man who liked to look into people's lives, trying to catch a glimpse of a broken woman. He didn't have a fantasy of saving the damsel. For, he was no prince, and she sure as hell was no damsel. He crossed the street, now fairly empty, and used the key she had left in the office, 'just in case', and stepped into the vacant elevator. As he walked down the corridor leading to her apartment, he reached his conclusion.

He was merely a cop. A man who swore to protect and serve, and just like her, he cared a little too much about the officers around him. So, as her captain, he had asked her at the office if she was ok after her ordeal undercover, and accepted her look of calm, and believed her when she said she was fine.

As her close friend, her father figure, he had ignored her words and watched her walk home to make sure she got there safe, and watched her keep herself collected, up until today. As her friend, he knocked on her door and he was determined to get her to open up to him. When she opened the door, she is only slightly surprised to see him standing there, looking at her with soft eyes as she cries. After a pause, he takes one step towards her and holds her in a tight embrace as she quietly cries onto his shoulder.

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So like I said before, please review, no flames.


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